Amour de' Trois
by blockedthewriter
Summary: The prince and the knight and the...duck? In a bed! Duck swears she hasn't watched those videos that Pike and Lilie were talking about. An awkward first-time Mytho/Duck/Fakir fic.
1. un

Amour de Trois

:::

_démarrer_

_:::_

"Uhm..." Duck began, worrying her lip between her teeth, "Fakir...don't you think maybe you should uh, you sh-should—"

"Shut up! I'm trying!" Fakir shouted, hastily trying to undo the buttons on his shirt. His face was ripe with embarrassment and he was so uncomfortable and dammit, couldn't she_ tell _he was trying?

"Why are you taking off your shirt, Fakir?" Mytho asked in a quiet, curious voice. Fakir's finger slipped andthread snapped. He swallowed. How did he get himself into these sorts of things? He glanced at Duck from beneath dark bangs: her face was pink behind her hands.

He breathed in deeply, preparing himself with an answer when—

"My body is beginning to feel strange. And the place in between my legs is—" Duck launched herself across the bed and crammed her hand over Mytho's mouth. Eyes widened and Duck wrenched her hand away. Mytho sat silent and surprised.

"Ohmigod! I'm sorry, I'm really, really, sorry, it's just that, well—Fakir was starting to look uncomfortable, and I know you just got your heart back so you probably don't know what's going on that much—but well, I really didn't think he wanted to explain and then you saying things like that— you're not supposed to say things like that! But sometimes I say weird things too, so maybe it's okay, it's just that this is kinda weirder than weird, like a weird-weird, and well—maybe I should just go and come back another time. I'm sure you and Fakir would be fine—" It was Mytho's turn to cover her mouth, albeit more gently.

"But I like you, Duck."

"But you...you..qua—" Then it was Fakir's turn; he clamped his hand across her mouth to stop the sputtering. Her eyes widened and her face coloured.

"Don't go quacking in here because I don't want this to be any _weirder _than it already is, and getting water right now would be a hassle. Just calm down already." Like Fakir was one to talk, tearing buttons off his own shirt. Either way, it _was _good advice, so she took a few deep breaths and swallowed.

"Okay!" She shouted with a fist in the air to accentuate her readiness. Fakir jumped and another button rolled to the ground. "Oops. Sorry." She quieted and went back to observing, eyes flickering back and forth between the two boys on the bed.

"Do you need help, Fakir?" The other boy asked, golden eyes shining.

"I don't need any—" but Mytho was helping him undo the buttons before he'd even finished the lie. Much more composed than the other two, Mytho unfastened the buttons in seconds. He wasn't capable of feeling embarrassment or shame—not yet—and the other two had nearly forgotten.

Fakir's shirt finally dropped carelessly to the floor, while the blush on Duck's cheeks began to steadily fill out to the rest of her body. She sat tensed and enthralled, unsure of what to do.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Fakir without any shirt, Duck in her nightgown, and Mytho—for _once_—still fully clothed. Fakir realized that he had to make a move—Duck certainly wouldn't, and Mytho, well**,** Mytho didn't even know _how_ to make a move, so...

"Mytho, take off your shirt," He nearly smacked himself in the face. He hadn't meant for the words to sound so harsh, and now Duck looked even more nervous

But Mytho only responded in kind, and he slowly reached his arms in the air to remove the t-shirt—tantalizing pale skin exposed at last. Duck looked adamantly at the sheets on the bed—and then suddenly someone was beside her.

"Will you take off yours too, Duck?" Mytho asked quietly, tugging lightly on her nightgown.

"But—" she begun sputtering, "well, it's ju-just—" It's just that all Duck had on was the night gown, and even though Fakir and Mytho didn't have _any_ shirts on, well—that was different anyway because they were both _boys_, and _boys_ took their shirts off a lot more than girls did, and how could she just _take off her nightgown_ with those _eyes_ staring at her—

"Duck is still being a scaredy-cat." The words were nearly spat, but Mytho didn't seem to notice.

"Scaredy cat...? You are afraid of something, Duck?" Mytho seemed concerned, but then again, that could have just been Duck's wishful thinking.

"No, no, no, no, no!" It's not that I'm scared, because, well, I'm Princess Tutu and how can Princess Tutu be _afraid_? "It's just that I've never done this before so—"

"Done what, Duck?" Mytho seemed terribly confused and terribly close and so terribly beautiful all at once. Mytho considered for a moment.

He glanced at Fakir and his shirtless torso. "Are we supposed to kiss now, Fakir? Is that what you've never done before, Duck?" Two faces instantly filled with red.

"I've never done it before either." He glanced between his blushing companions. "Can I kiss Duck, Fakir? When I get close to her my insides feel so—"

"You don't need my permission to kiss anyone!" Fakir shouted, and Duck jumped, feeling like maybe she really should leave.

Then lips touched. Duck stared. There was Mytho, her Mytho, _Prince _Mytho, kissing Fakir—the best friend—the _knight_. It was a brief connection of lips against lips; Mytho half-kneeling, and Fakir's arms in mid-air. And then Mytho sat back, and looked at him.

"Since you said I didn't need your permission, I thought that..." Mytho swallowed before, continuing, hoping he hadn't displeased Fakir.

"I felt it then too, Fakir. I feel it when I'm close to you, or Duck." He turned towards her. "What is this feeling?"

Neither of them knew precisely what he was feeling, and even if they had, neither of them wanted to explain it.

"Do you have that too, a burning in your chest?" he asked neither of them, instead deciding to look at the sheets.

Duck spared a glance in Mytho's direction: erect nipples. She immediately looked back down.

"I want to see what you look like too, Duck, underneath your nightgown. It's different than us, isn't it?"

"Of course it's different you idiot! Duck's a girl!" Fakir regretted his words almost immediately, his mind bringing forth memories of Duck after she'd transformed back from her animal form.

"Just take off the gown already!" He said, snapping his head in her direction.

Duck hesitated. Why wait? It was why they were there after all. She knew it'd have to come off at some point—but so soon and in front of them both—she almost felt sort of _bad_ about it. A girl her age just taking her nightgown off for two boys and neither of them was her boyfriend, not that she had a boyfriend or anything, but well, they were her friends and she would—

She looked up and Fakir shifted his eyes. Amongst her thoughts she'd managed the garment off, and Fakir had been staring. Mytho had been too—still was—but in an inquisitive, curious manner.

"You like Duck too, Fakir," Mytho said easily, and for once it wasn't a question.

"What do you mean—"

"That's why you stare at her the way you do, like you stare at me." The room was quiet and frozen.

"Aren't I right, Fakir—Duck?"

Eyes shifted uncomfortably. Mytho reached for Fakir's hand confidently, and when their skin made contact, Fakir had to struggle not to jump. The white-haired boy grasped the other's hand within his own, and reached them both forward.

"That's why you blush when you look at her." Mytho led their hands in unison towards Duck.

"That's why you become angry when she isn't nearby." Fingertips brushed against skin and said girl shivered, cheeks darkening.

"That's why you feel a burning in your chest." Mytho finished. He released Fakir's hand, and the raven-haired teen was left staring at his own fingertips brushing up against exposed skin—someone else's exposed skin—a girl's exposed skin—_Duck's_ exposed skin!

He swallowed. It wasn't as if he could turn back now. He flattened his palm against her chest and forced his body to move towards her. He leaned his head against her shoulder, dragging the pads of his fingers down her body. There wasn't a lot to begin with—she was a duck, after all—but the sensitivity was still there; touch sending chills down her spine.

Fakir closed his eyes to hide the embarrassment coursing through his veins, let his trembling hand graze across her stomach. A soft gasp fluttered into the air, and Mytho wasn't quite sure to whom it belonged to.

"Uhm...Fakir...?" A hesitant, squeaky voice asked.

"Don't talk now, you'll ruin it," he managed through clenched teeth. Duck stared over his shoulder as his fingers traced patterns across her torso.

"But—ah, Fakir..."

"I said, don't talk now, you'll—_what_—Ah!" Fakir shouted suddenly and turned rapidly in succession; Mytho's palms pressed firmly against his shoulder blades.

"I'm here too, Fakir. Shouldn't _I _be touching someone? It burns so much when I don't."

There was a lump in his throat. "Mytho, I told you, you don't have to ask—"

"I know, but you'll always tell me what's best, right Fakir?" said dark-haired male breathed in deeply.

"Move around towards the front of us." The prince shifted easily, seated so he could see both Fakir and Duck, so that the three of them were settled in a triangular shape.

Mytho mimicked the other boy, running his hands across Fakir—across Duck—heat blooming where skin met. Mytho wrapped his arms around Fakir's neck, pulling them closer and flushing their chests together. Duck squeaked in surprise and Fakir's eyes clenched shut. Mytho placed his hands hesitantly against the dark-eyed boy's hips, and Mytho spoke again, curious.

"Where else do I touch you, Fakir?" Duck wondered if her eyes could widen any more and Fakir wished he could close his own eventighter. Mytho hadn't a clue about any of it, about how to touch someone and make them feel good.

"Have you ever touched yourself?" Fakir asked, placing a mask on to hide his embarrassment.

"I touch myself all the time—"

"No, not like that. Have you ever touched yourself—between your legs—made yourself...feel good?" Masks only hid so much, Fakir realized as his throat tightened.

"No, I don't think so. Will touching that part of me make the burn go away? Is that were I should touch you—"

Fakir couldn't really concur or disagree, because Mytho was taking a hands-on approach; testing the proverbial waters. Thin fingers grasped between Fakir's legs easily—he felt everything through the thin fabric—and Fakir groaned. He groaned and tried to stop himself—nearly choking himself with it—his head falling against the prince's shoulder easily.

"This is where I should touch." Neither of the other two answered, not really sure if it was a real question or not anyway, and not that Fakir _could _answer, what with Mytho caressing his cock through his pants with that strange new enthusiasm of his.

Duck's breathing hitched because Fakir's breathing hitched, now coming in short, choppy breaths. And Mytho hadn't even gotten his pants off yet.

"Has the burning ceased, Fakir?" Mytho asked, stopping his hand motions abruptly.

"Mytho, you have to—no! You have to do it until—" He made an exasperated noise and a vague hand motion. "You have to..." he gave up, realizing that a hands on approach really was much better, and shoved his hands down his prince's pants.

"Aah!" A sudden intake of breath, a new experience. "Fakir...!" and Fakir was determined to make it a good one.

Duck could see Fakir's hand, well his wrist really, moving up and down. She knew what he was doing, and she could feel herself finding the scene, well, finding it—_attractive_. The prince and the knight, she kept thinking. Her prince and her knight.

Fakir's wrist cramped quickly, so he unbuttoned the constraining pants and the cold air hit the prince like an icicle. "Duck...!" He managed out, arm outstretched. Fakir might have been offended, but he knew Mytho wasn't thinking like that, wasn't to the point of considering the feelings of others.

Duck made an almost quack-half-meep sound, and then Mytho said Duck's name again, so Fakir just sighed and grabbed Duck, pulling her against them. He grabbed her hand and he guided her to Mytho's erect cock, warm, and different—much different for Duck. She swallowed and tried to breathe, worried she'd squeeze too tightly or move too slowly or too quickly or just plain wrongly, because it wasn't like she had one of these at home or that she'd even seen the kinds of videos that Pike and Lilie were always talking about—

"Just follow my league. It's a simple motion." Sure it was a simple motion for Fakir who had his own..._thing _to practice with and he's had years to—

"Aah!" The noise startled Duck and she realized that she'd been moving her own hand too—in unison beneath Fakir's—up and down, up and down. The skin around Mytho's cock was strange to her, thin, but then the whole thing felt almost heavy; thick in her hand. It was slender in a way that matched the rest of his body, and she realized, by accident, that when she slid her finger over the top his body shuddered.

She'd almost forgotten that Fakir was there at all—she was leading then—until he said "Faster, idiot."

"Sorry!" She stuttered out, feeling like the dumbest girl on the planet. He began moving her hand faster, and suddenly her hand was slick with something that was just..._Mytho._ She might have been grossed out if Mytho wasn't so handsome and his eyes weren't so_ alive._

Suddenly those little 'ah' noises were increasing, becoming louder and more frequent, and Duck could feel her very own—but much different—place pulsating between her own legs. The noises were shooting straight down her spine, and she wondered if Fakir was feeling that way too. She pulled her hand out from beneath his, and groped for his crotch, just to check.

Fakir yelped and jerked away. "What're you doing?" He sounded angry. He'd lost balance from the shock of the touch, pushing Mytho down and nearly crushing him with his own weight. He'd managed to brace himself with his arms at the last minute, breathing heavily.

"What is wrong with you?" Mytho was laying there with his golden eyes wide and surprised, and you could see that his irises were slightly larger—that his chest was still heaving with arousal.

"I just wanted to see if you were—if you were feeling like I—like Mytho was." She looked down, embarrassed. It had obviously been a bad idea.

Then she became almost as confused as Mytho, because then Fakir looked embarrassed too.

"Look, it's fine—you just—you can't all of a sudden touch someone like that! I nearly fell on top of him! You're allowed to... allowed touch, that's why we're here in the first place!...you just, not so suddenly!"

Duck swallowed and tried really, really hard not to think about what she was about to do.

Then she launched her body at Fakir and kissed him. It wasn't how Duck thought her first kiss would be. First of all, her first kiss was supposed to have been with her _prince_, _not_ the prince's knight, and secondly it was supposed to be at the perfect moment and he was supposed to kiss_ her_, not that it all mattered much anyway, since they were _kissing_, after all.

Then Duck felt something—Fakir's fingers!—touching her _there_, and—

"Quack!" Mytho laughed in a flurry of feathers, actually laughed, Fakir threw himself off the bed in search of water to hide his frustration, and Duck nearly fainted with embarrassment.

:::

_pour être continué_

:::


	2. deux

Amour de Trois

:::

_démarrer_

:::

"Fakir, why does this keep happening?" The white-haired boy tilted his head and stared at his tented boxers. Fakir swallowed and averted his eyes.

"It's just like that day with you and Duck. I've tried and tried to make it go away, but then it begins to hurt." Fakir sighed heavily, remembering suddenly how Mytho could feel pain.

"It's nothing, just ignore it." He managed out, trying hard to look stern.

"But it _hurts_, Fakir." His voice really did sound pained, and the way he was standing there—innocent and delicate and perfect—it really wasn't helping Fakir's resolve. He hadn't touched himself at all since _that_ time, opting instead for cold showers. It seemed that any time he even thought of anything surrounding the incident that the embarrassing memories returned to haunt him, reminding him again and again of his own blunders and mistakes. Nearly anything at all triggered them: Mytho changing in the mornings, every time Fakir even_ looked _at Duck, or even his own bed for that matter. He almost felt bad for the amount of cold water he'd been using in the past week.

Mytho brushed up against him suddenly, rising on his toes slightly to press himself against the taller boy.

"Mytho!" Fakir barely managed out, startled and aroused, surprised that Mytho even knew what to do at all.

"Are you being a scaredy-cat, Fakir?" Mytho smiled and gauged him for his reaction. It almost sounded as though Mytho was attempting to _seduce_ him. Fakir might have laughed had the situation not triggered what felt like some sort of drug-induced flashback.

"_I believe _Duck_ is still being a scaredy-cat."_

He swallowed and attempted to will himself away. _Disappear, disappear, disappear._ It wasn't working.

"_Scaredy cat...? You are afraid of something, Duck?"_

"Fakir, please, _Fakir…_"

Fakir was most positive that Mytho had just _begged_ the last part; words breathy and needy. The prince rubbed his body against the knight again, and Fakir could feel himself rising with excitement. He swallowed nervously. He really oughtn't do this.

"Fakir...!" Mytho spoke suddenly, with an uncoordinated jerk of his hips. So he didn't know what he was doing at all, he was only trying to get Fakir to touch him; make the pain go away. Without the erection he wouldn't have sought Fakir out all, and maybe he was only seeking Fakir out anyway because he was closest by—Mytho didn't even have the capacity to, to... well Fakir knew that to Mytho it was probably just a biological function, like hunger—a natural, animalistic urge to rut. It didn't matter if it was him or Duck or Pike or—

"It burns, Fakir." Feeling frustrated and lonely, and maybe angry, he did something that he always regretted afterwards, and raised his voice.

"What hurts Mytho, _what?_"

"My heart." Then suddenly Fakir felt very stupid and very guilty. He remembered the numerous times Mytho had referred to a burning in his chest, and both he and Duck had been too uncomfortable to even acknowledge that he'd spoken the words.

"_What is this feeling?"_

He closed his eyes and sighed, refusing to apologize verbally, instead deciding to do what Mytho more easily understood anyway, and reached down between them and into thin tented fabric to touch him.

"...ah!" He could hear Mytho's breath quicken, feel a quickening pulse in his own hand.

Fakir stroked him a few times, softly and slowly, barely closing his fist around him. It was a steady, repetitive motion until Mytho was writhing in his arms, and Fakir could feel the wetness welling at the tip. Then Fakir released Mytho suddenly, wiping his hands on his pants and leaving the golden-eyed prince looking distraught.

"Please, Fakir. Please..." Fakir's own erection was visible and uncomfortable, but he paid it no attention and Mytho seemed not to notice it in his own state of arousal.

"Again Fakir, please..." Mytho started up again. Before Fakir could feel any satisfaction that Mytho was finally saying _his_ name, Mytho released a near obscene whine and jerked his hips against him in what was most definitely a _grind_. It was the most sexual thing he'd ever seen anyone do, and from someone who wasn't even trying, from _Mytho_, it was just—

"C'mon, lie on the bed, it's difficult to do this while standing." As they moved towards the bed the knight glanced out of the window and vaguely recalled that they'd been getting dressed for school and that they were probably going to be late. It didn't matter—he could make up any excuse—he had more important matters at hand—literally.

Mytho walked unsteadily towards the bed, aroused and shaky. All he could think was that Fakir would give him what he needed, that Fakir would stop the burning, and that Fakir would stop the pain. Fakir would make him feel _good_.

Mytho was staring up at said male, eyes half-closed under heavy lids and mouth hung open.

Fakir shifted Mytho a bit, straddling the innocent (or maybe not for much longer) boy and trying to regain his composure. Sweat trickled down Mytho's soft neck; parts of Mytho's stomach exposed themselves beneath a ruffled and never-buttoned school shirt. Fakir began moving his arm; shaking, attempting to balance on just one. He let his hand drift underneath the blue cloth, and felt the boy beneath him shiver. He explored the expanse of Mytho's chest and torso: soft and untouched.

Fakir brushed passed nipples, eliciting the most needy little gasps, before heading south and grasping Mytho yet again, stroking slowly. Duck appeared in his mind suddenly, and he realized with a pang of guilt that things were much less embarrassing without her there. When him and Mytho were alone, there was no one to laugh or ridicule him for being inexperienced or making mistakes—not that Duck had been doing that—but something was just easier for him like this.

His prince, he'd known for years. Duck was new and he didn't completely understand her yet, nor did she know much of him. Somewhere in the back of his mind it scared him, making this new impression. Fakir wanted her to think of him as the perfect honorable knight.

"_That's why you blush when you look at her."_

The door clicked shut abruptly and Fakir jerked his headin its direction. Who was it? A teacher, a breeze, a curious student? Was Mytho really being that loud? He removed himself from the bed, slowly padding across wooden floors. He reachedfor the handle unsteadily. He would just peak out, see who was there, and if it was a student, he'd...he'd what? Bribe them, threaten them? And if it was a teacher...?

He swallowed and turned the knob, peaking out fearfully.

What he saw was nothing terrible or scary—at least not in that sense—but merely a pitiful orange haired girl, bad at dancing, and gracelessly awkward, a girl who had obviously sneaked into the boys dormitory.

"Duck...?" He asked hesitantly from the doorway. She lifted her head from her knees and he saw tear-stained impressions beneath pink, puffy eyes.

She wiped away at them suddenly.

"I just…I have something in my eye and, well, I was just coming to see if you and Mytho were coming to school because I thought maybe you were mad at me. I mean, I haven't really seen you lately and thought that it was because the last time we were all together we—" She trailed off and breathed in heavily, all worked up with tears in her eyes and a frog in her throat.

"I don't—I'm really sorry! I don't want you and Mytho to be mad at me! I know it's only my job to gather the heart shards but when you said that Mytho was confused about his feelings I thought that you meant that maybe he—I**...**I dunno! But then, I mean—it's not your fault! I knew what you meant when you said that we should learn about feelings together in the note, and I wasn't even sure if you wrote it at first, because well—I never hear you talk about feelings—but somehow I knew it was you and when you said the part about being able to be with him while we still can because you know what happens and at the end of the book, and since I can't tell him my feelings and you never really say _what_ you're feeling and Mytho doesn't even_ know_ what he's feeling because of his heart but, but, _but_ somehow I just thought that maybe we could all be happy and figure it out with _each other!_"

Tears welled in her eyes and constructed new tracks on her cheeks. Duck was sick of always being the third wheel, the odd man out, the one that Mytho could never love. The one they both wanted to get rid of and they didn't even have the decency to just tell her outright.

"I can't tell my feelings either." Fakir said, words floating through the awkward silence.

"Wha…huh?" She glanced up, sniffling and wiping tears from his eyes.

"It's like you said, I don't talk about my feelings." Fakir was trying to keep his voice as intimidating as possible. Duck knew that this was important information somehow, but she wasn't quite understanding what he meant, and she really did want to understand Fakir.

"Well you can talk to me about them." She said, suddenly cheery and smiling reassuringly.

Fakir's face coloured.

"_That's why you stare at her the way you do, like you stare at me."_

"If I could just talk about them, I wouldn't have this problem." Fakir put on his best condescending voice, but it flew right over the oblivious girl's head.

"Well maybe I can help you. Is it about Mytho?" Duck was as clueless as ever, seemingly having forgotten her tears and woes—whatever they had been.

"No." His answer was flat. He had to steer her clear from the problem before she pressed him too much.

"Why were you crying?" He asked, attempting to distract her. Although she'd managed quite a lot of babbling, she done very little actual _explaining_.

"Huh, what…_oh_…It was just that, well, yeah! I had something in my eye, and well, I was trying to get it out, and then I tripped, so it's not like I was_ really _crying, really, I'm fine, _fine_—"

"Is this about Mytho?" Duck felt a sense of déjà vu. Fakir tried his best to make this about her and Mytho, not himself.

"Well, no. I mean, yes, I mean sorta! I don't know. Maybe…?" The hallway was silent for a moment, and Fakir wondered if Mytho had gone ahead and finished on his own. He doubted the boy was even capable of it.

"Do you like Mytho, Fakir?" She asked suddenly. Fakir might have fallen over in shock had he not already been bracing himself against the wall. Fakir had been positive that Duck was much too absent-minded and easily deceived to come to such a conclusion.

"I'm not really as dumb as I look ya' know..." Her eyes and voice lowered, and she began to fidget with her fingers.

Fakir certainly felt dumber than _he_ looked just then, and he began to clench and unclench his hands with nervousness. What should he say? He couldn't say yes, but no was just a lie, and saying yes would probably give her the wrong impression anyway—that he _only_ cared about Mytho—didn't he?

"It's okay. I know that you and Mytho are…I think I should go." Duck made no movement to stand however, instead resting her chin on her knees.

"Don't go, Duck. Please?" A new, soft voice entered the conversation. Mytho and Duck swiftly turned: Mytho was standing in the hallway in a shirt and boxers, and it had Fakir wondering when exactly he'd taken his pants off. Maybe it was a special talent that came with being a Prince.

"Fakir is only embarrassed because he's inexperienced too. He always thinks about you Duck, and about me and putting his peni—" Fakir had finally recovered from his shock, and had his hand clamped tightly over the pale-skinned boy's mouth. Duck was still staring, face red as a beet.

"Mytho…" Fakir began, staring at the ground, face a bright fuchsia, teeth clenched. Mytho reached up slowly, hands covering Fakir's for a few seconds, before slowly pulling them away from his mouth.

"I read the notebook you leave on your desk Fakir, the one where you record what you think," Mytho offered noncommittally. Fakir remained silent and unable to speak.

"You keep a diary!" Duck finally blurted, eyes wide, nearly falling back on the floor in surprise.

"It's_ not_ a diary!" Fakir shouted, cementing the fact that he did indeed keep a diary.

"A diary, Fakir?" Mytho asked with the tilt of his head.

"Yeah! I have one too! It's a book where you write all the stuff you really think where no one else can read it and so it doesn't even matter what you say! I write lotsa stuff in mine and you really probably shouldn't have read that Mytho—" Duck's voice changed abruptly as the realization of what he'd done dawned on her. "—because I'd be pretty embarrassed if you read my diary, not that I write embarrassing things—or I mean, do embarrassing things, it's just, well diaries are really personal and—you really think about me a lot Fakir?"

"No, Mytho misinterpreted my words. Anything I wrote about involving you was probably just a complaint." Fakir answered coldly, sick of the humiliation and just wishing everything would just end already.

"Oh..." Duck mumbled, disappointed. She looked on the verge of tears again, and Fakir felt like he couldn't do anything right.

"But Fakir—I don't understand. Sometimes you write about putting your prick—is that what you call it Fakir?—" He reached into his pants before continuing, "inside of her."

Out of all the things that Mytho had been confused about, modesty had always ranked the top of the list. As it were to Mytho, his body was little more than a vessel to hold his brain. More recently, it was becoming a vessel in which to hold his heart as well. Still, however, it was _merely_ a vessel, and what others saw of it, or what he saw of theirs', meant little to him.

It meant quite a lot, however, to both Fakir and Duck, and was especially important when Mytho was standing in the hallway with part of his _vessel_ in his right hand, half hard and half out of his boxers.

"Mytho!" The two shouted at once as their faces simultaneously reddened. Duck practically broke her neck trying to look away and Fakir covered his eyes.

"This isn't a prick?" Mytho asked, clearly dumbfounded. The word seemed so out of place. "I was fairly sure that—Fakir? Duck?" Mytho was hesitant. He looked at himself and then between his blushing companions.

"Mytho, don't you remember that thing I told you about your body?" Fakir managed very slowly through his hand. It was strange. Everything was different with Duck. He'd only just been jerking off this very same boy moments ago, and now he was blushing like a newlywed and telling him to cover up.

"No. I'm sorry, Fakir."

"Mytho...! You're supposed to, you can't go around showing that to everyone!" Fakir shouted.

"But I'm only showing it to you Fakir, and Duck, too." He ran his hand up the length of himself and shivered.

Duck—who was previously in the process of peaking through her fingers—clenched her eyes tightly shut again and swallowed. She could practically hear the timer ticking in Fakir's head.

"Mytho, it's not okay to just do whatever—"

"But Fakir—"_ tick_

"No, you stupid—y-you just can't go reading—" _tick_

"I'm sorry Fakir, I didn't—"_tick_

"No! And g-get that, put y-your—" _tick_

"Prick...?" _boom—_

"Mytho! Not in the hallway!" Fakir exploded.

"Why do you think it's okay do these things?" Fakir screeched, throat raw and scathing. "Are you _stupid_? You can't just go around showing off your body to anyone! Anyone could come by here, are you an idiot? Go inside already and quit staring at me like_ I'm_ the one with my _prick_ all over the place!"

Duck swallowed and Fakir turned abruptly. "And you too! Sneaking into the boy's dorms in the early morning like some kind of lovesick schoolgirl—" Duck could feel the heat slowly creeping up her face.

"And then coming out and crying like you just walked in on some grand display of love! Stop jumping to conclusions! Thinking that Mytho and I leaving you out when you know this thing wouldn't have started at all without you and your _wretched _heart shards and those _stupid_ blue eyes!"

The other two sat in an awed silence, and Fakir panted heavily. "Well what the hell are you waiting for? Go!" The two scurried in through the door and Fakir followed in suit, quite satisfied with himself and breathing heavily.

:::

_pour être continué_

:::


	3. trois

Amour de Trois

:::

_démarrer_

:::

The bed seemed smaller than usual, more cramped and uncomfortable than the first time. Maybe it was the nervousness that comes with knowing what's about to happen that was taking up so much space. Maybe the bed had shrunk while they were in the hallway.

Fakir's previous authority had seemingly drained from his very skin and been replaced with a hot feeling and a red face. He sat and fidgeted, trying to think of all the right things to say but instead saying nothing at all.

Duck glanced around unnecessarily, as if she'd never before been inside of Fakir and Mytho's dorm. She had, but of course she'd been more interested in other things then, not the matching tapestry or the bunched up sheets or the clothes in heaps on the floor. In fact, what little Duck did remember of the room was that it had been meticulously clean, and there certainly hadn't been a knocked over glass of water on the floor.

"How come your room is such a mess?" she blurted before she could even stop herself. Duck really had a way with saying the wrong things at all the wrong times.

"Fakir and I were getting changed," Mytho offered in explanation. Duck's imagination and the glimpse of what she'd seen earlier filled in the rest.

"Oh, right." Duck had actually forgotten about school, to be honest. About Mytho and Fakir and—

"Do you think it'll be suspicious that we're all absent from school on the same day?" Duck slapped a hand to her face and went back to observing the curtains.

Mytho wondered why Fakir wasn't touching him when he'd been doing it so spectacularly before Duck had arrived. The Prince was aching again, and his heart was burning, and hadn't Fakir told him that he was always going to do what was best for him?

"Touch me, Fakir?" Mytho asked, voice soft. It might have been tentative, but Mytho had nothing to bring him hesitation, no semblance of social norms to understand why the other two were so quiet.

Fakir muttered a quiet yes, much to Duck's surprise, and he shifted forward. The dark-haired boy was against Mytho and touching him seemingly all at once, and Duck was positive that she had _not_ just felt a pang of jealousy.

She watched from behind her hands—only a little less embarrassed than the last time—as Fakir shifted him flat on his back.

Fakir kept touching Mytho's stomach, so much softer than anything else she'd ever seen Fakir do, and the simplicity of his fingers on Mytho's pale skin entranced her. The knight dipped into his naval and danced circles around his nipples, and then, much to Duck's surprise, he pinched them lightly. Duck squeaked when Mytho groaned at the sensation. She'd had no idea that boy's nipples were the same in that way. Well she wasn't really _that _stupid, she knew boy's nipples could get hard, but she didn't know you could touch them like a girls' and they'd feel it like a girl would.

Mytho glanced at her from beneath thick lashes—probably surprised at all her squeaking—and offered her an unabashed smile. She reddened. Their prince was neither suave nor charismatic, just honest and without embarrassment, which was perhaps so much better. It meant that whatever Mytho said, he really, truly meant, and that nothing he said was ever showy or with the desire to please or woo. It was just what Mytho wanted to say.

Mytho's smile disappeared behind a gasp, and Duck found herself squirming beneath her school uniform in a fairly similarly inappropriate manner. She took a deep breath and glanced away for a moment, to compose herself, and when she turned back around Fakir had his long fingers wrapped around Mytho's...Mytho's, his well, Duck couldn't quite bring herself to even _think_ it.

She swallowed and forced herself not to turn away. You've done this before, she kept telling herself. She knew however, that it hadn't been like this, that she hadn't actually seen Mytho's well, his _thing_. It was strange and foreign to her, like nothing she was used to. If she was honest with herself, she'd never even seen a boy's _thing_ outside of babies and art and that one time she walked in on someone by accident in the bathroom. None of her previous experiences had been quite so _exhilarating_,however. She edged closer, holding her breath. She told herself she could this, that she'd done it before, that if she closed her eyes, it'd be just like before—

"What are you doing?" Fakir's voice cut through her thoughts, and when she opened her eyes, she noticed he'd stopped his motions and Mytho was eying her curiously. They glanced at her arm, and then she did too, and she noticed it was outstretched just centimeters away from well, from Mytho's, um, his—_penis—_she forced herself to think, with a blush. She imagined how ridiculous she must look, stretched halfway across the bed with her eyes clenched shut.

She realized too that they were probably expecting an answer, particularly when Fakir gave her an impatient look and Mytho squirmed.

"I was ummm, you know, gonna, I was reach—I was gonna um, you know, like last time..." Duck was more stuttery than usual, unable to find a sentence to describe what she was about to do and not be embarrassed at the same time.

Fakir rolled his eyes, feeling more confident after his earlier romp with Mytho and the arguments in the hallway.

"I know that, but why are you doing it with your eyes closed from halfway across the bed? You look like an imbecile." Duck resisted the urge to squawk indignantly. She knew he was right. She was just afraid or nervous, or something, right?

Mytho shifted his hips again, and Duck tried not to watch as his, his—_penis_—bounced a bit and tapped against his stomach.

Fakir, finally and completely fed up with words, grabbed Duck by her arm and pulled her significantly closer to the other two. Mytho was still flat on his back, smiling as the two people that cared for him touched him tenderly. With their hearts.

And maybe a bit with their hands.

Fakir seated himself over top of Mytho's legs, just below the knees, and without too much trouble or embarrassment had Duck similarly seated in front of him, albeit closer to Mytho's cock. Duck shifted her hips a bit, accidentally brushing back against Fakir and his own erection, and he tried to contain a shiver. Duck seemed not to notice. She scooched herself up more, so that she was seated just below Mytho's penis. _Penis_, she could at least think it now. She took a deep breath, and without too much hesitation wrapped her hands firmly around the thing.

The prince responded nearly instantaneously, keening and bucking as Duck continued a simple up-and-down motion with both of her hands. She swallowed nervously. She wasn't sure what else there was to do. Just up-and-down, right? And then faster?

Fakir moved forward until he was flush against Duck, his tented erection brushing against her backside. The Knight reached around slowly, as to not startle the Princess into a fit of quacking, and—swallowing deeply and trying not to shake—laid his hands tenderly against her chest. She stiffened and slowed down her motions, but otherwise seemed to be adjusting to the feeling.

"I just—" Fakir wasn't sure what to say, because 'hey can I grope your chest?' just didn't quite cut it.

"It's um, I-I...I uh, okay?" Fakir managed out finally, tripping over words. Everything was so much different when it came to Duck.

"Y-yeah." Vigorous head-nodding; she scooched back a little.

Fakir's own embarrassment and nervousness was the only thing keeping him from grinding against her. He was finding himself more aroused than ever, and his recent lack of masturbation certainly wasn't helping matters. Instead he began fiddling with her chest through her school uniform, brushing his fingers where he could feel what might have been breasts, feeling tiny nubs harden beneath the fabric.

Duck gasped and shuddered, pulled Mytho a little to roughly, and his eyebrows furrowed as he cried out. Fakir stopped immediately, making a mental note that she obviously wasn't capable of doing two things at once.

"Idiot," He muttered against her ear, "Be careful, do you_ want_ to hurt him? Sheesh." He meant little of what he said, quite aware that if anyone was to blame for the accident, it was certainly him.

"I'm sorry! I didn't realize, I mean, it was an accident, it's just because because you were—" Her voice was becoming higher with every word and cracking around the edges.

"It's okay, Duck. It doesn't hurt anymore." Mytho reassured her—and it was a good thing too, because Fakir hadn't planned on it. This whole thing was uncomfortable enough already.

Literally. He shifted against her again, and she squirmed, and then he shifted because she was squirming, and well, chain reaction, really.

"Shouldn't you take off your clothes, too?" Mytho spoke up softly, watching with amusement in his eyes as they shifted again. Mytho had no understanding of modesty at all. Duck fidgeted with the hem of her shirt and Fakir could feel his palms begin to sweat.

They sat in silence for a few moments, shifting uncomfortably and trying to figure out just what to do when Duck finally decided to make a move. She would be the brave one this time, she kept telling herself. Besides, it wasn't as if Fakir hadn't seen her undressed after she'd changed back into a girl, even if it was for just a few seconds—and plus, just the other day they'd both seen her down to her underwear—but she couldn't believe she was going to do this!

Still playing with the hem of her shirt, she inhaled deeply and began to undo the vest, and then—slower than necessary—lifting the dress beneath it up over her shoulders until it was just a sky blue heap on the floor.

It really helped that her back was to Fakir. Mytho stayed in place, smiling up at her curiously. Her torso was much similar to his own, skinny and covered in skin and there was a belly button towards the bottom—but unlike him it was softer and less jagged, and then of course her, well, they certainly weren't _breasts_, but it was soft there and maybe there were small lumps that protruded the tiniest bit. She_ was _a duck at the end of the day.

Her underwear were cute and white—Fakir could tell even from behind her—and the top was bordered with little little yellow ducks. He could practically feel the blood rushing to his face at the innocence of it all.

"Umm..." Duck was biting her lip, unsure of what to do between the two boys, and feeling rather self-conscious at her lack of breasts or womanly figure. Mytho didn't seem to notice.

He sat himself up on his forearms, and then began moving completely upright, throwing the other two off balance, Duck falling backwards into Fakir. Mytho retracted his legs until they were underneath him, kneeling, pushing off his boxers—the only clothing he'd had—in the process.

Duck was too busy trying to scramble off of Fakir to notice, blushing and fumbling and saying sorry sorry sorry.

"Hey, calm down. I don't want you fainting like you did the last time," Fakir said it in an aggravated tone, but Duck could sense the tenderness in the words.

She stilled and found herself staring down at a face equally as embarrassed as her own. She felt naked and exposed, probably just because of the simple fact that she was stripped down to her underwear. She held her weight on all fours, afraid to straddle Fakir's waist—afraid too touch him at all—and stared down nervously as her braid brushed against his cheek.

"Umm, F-Fakir..." She started, shivering from the lack of clothes and coldness of the room, she wasn't sure what she should be saying. "It's, um, I'm k-kinda cold." Fakir didn't say anything and Duck looked away feeling stupid, when suddenly she felt trembling hands grab her hips and pull them down firmly. She swallowed and squirmed, the heat radiating from Fakir's clothed cock flushing beneath her.

Fakir breathed in slowly, hands still on thin hips, and he tried to convince himself that what he was about to do was okay. He told himself that he was only a year older, only a bit taller, and only a_ bit_ more experienced. He still felt like a pervert somehow. Sometimes he felt like Duck was just too innocent for all this, that he was corrupting her young mind or something.

She shifted against him and his cock became perfectly aligned between her legs and suddenly none of that mattered. He ground his hips and pulled hers down again, rubbing his trapped cock against the warmth between her legs.

"ah...!" The noise tumbled out of her throat and was followed by a soft gasp as he repeated the action. Fakir never knew that such a dope-headed girl was capable of making such erotic noises. He swallowed and clenched his eyes shut, grinding again, and for for a few moments forgetting any hesitation or embarrassment.

But only for a few moments, because then, of course, Mytho spoke:

"Me too, Fakir?" Fakir's eyes snapped open and he turned his head, eyes searching Mytho out. Truth be told he'd forgotten the prince's presence, and guilt washed over him in waves.

His voice was choked, "Y-eah, Mytho I—" He shifted, releasing Duck's hips and supporting his weight with his elbows. She hid her embarrassment by looking at the sheets.

"Duck?" Mytho whispered, suddenly beside her and very, _very _close. Fakir watched nervously, curiously, wondering what the prince would do with limited knowledge and even more limited experience.

Without warning Mytho was straddling Fakir too, but in the opposite direction, so that Fakir really only got a clear view of his back and skinny bottom and Duck's long pointy hair poking up above their heads.

Mytho stared into surprised blue eyes, and Fakir could hear him softly saying, "I've never kissed you, Duck."

Then he leaned down—he was a bit taller than her after all—and pressed his lips against hers' like he remembered doing with Fakir. The feeling was very similar—it made the pain cease and his heart flutter—but yet very different: softer, and gentler and more timid.

Mytho groaned suddenly, fierce and needy, and then just as sudden—he bucked against her. Then again. Her eyes widened as he rubbed his cock against her through the thin patterned fabric of her underwear, surprised and pleased. Mytho gave another uncoordinated jerk and she found herself grasping his shoulders and leaning her head in the crook of his neck. Mytho had no shame as he continued to rut, and soon Duck found herself becoming wet—something she'd experienced before but never had much use for—and wanting him more and faster.

Fakir was on the verge of insanity at the maddening slow pace that the other two seemed to enjoy, and the two of them rocking on top of him—Mytho's ass brushing against him just so—it was driving him crazy. Of course he also had a very limited view. In a surge of dominance he sat up and wrapped his arms simultaneously around Duck and Mytho, crushing them against one another and dragging him down until he was once looming over them, Duck looking unsure of herself and Mytho looking practically entertained, though flushed.

He stared down at them with no real idea of what to do, no plan in mind, and feeling quite ridiculous for suddenly moving everything like he had. He was sure about the mechanics of sex—both kinds—and although three made it a bit more complicated, he still should have been able to figure something out.

Yet instead he sat with a dumbly blank mind and a pink face. Did Duck know the mechanics of sex at all—of any kind? Mytho certainly didn't—but then he had read his diary, so perhaps the very basics at best—but clearly not enough to know anything about, well...

He inhaled deeply, promising himself not to ramble on like Duck ever again, and began the impossible task of removing his clothing. Duck and Mytho both watched him like he was a regular after-school special—or in this case, perhaps the before school special—and Fakir found his hands sweaty and his fingers slipping. It took him longer than it should have to remove his clothing, and once he'd finally finished, the desire to cover himself was so great that he almost reached for a pillow.

But that would have been ridiculous, considering what he was about to do.

He swallowed and decided to lay down on the right side of the bed towards the end, putting the golden-eyed boy between the Duck and the Knight. He was facing Mytho's back, and just when he'd gotten up the courage to touch his shoulders Mytho interrupted the strained silence,

"What do we do now Fakir?" Of course, so Mytho _didn't_ even know the basics.

"We touch." He stated simply. He needn't over-explain. That really was all they had to do just then, although quite surely, they'd be doing more soon, or at least he hoped. He trailed his fingertips up the prince's spine, leaning his head against the smaller boy's and inhaling: white rice and honey, and maybe dust.

Duck felt herself stiffen as Mytho reached out, even though she'd been trying so hard to will herself into calmness. She supposed that calmness just didn't work that way. She faced Mytho, lying on her side, staring into brilliant eyes and wondering just what Fakir was doing to make Mytho gasp like that. They were all naked now except her, but she was frightened of removing the last of her security—and they hadn't yet requested that she remove it—so perhaps it was alright for the moment.

She shivered from the cold air and found herself wondering if all the boy's dorms were this cold. She wanted to move closer to Mytho—she really did—but that meant that Mytho's, his well, his penis would be touching her, and it was so strange and weird—

"You _do_ know the mechanics, right?" Fakir's curt voice broke through the air. She wasn't quite sure to whom he was talking, to her or Mytho, so she chose not respond. Her voice was too cracked and nervous anyway.

"Mechanics?" Mytho asked, the word hovering in the silent room.

"About s-ex," Fakir stumbled over the word, "do you know anything about it all?" Duck knew the gist, although with three people—two boys—she wasn't quite sure, and her mind stumbled with vague ideas.

"You put this—" Mytho started, and Fakir gasped. Duck could guess what he'd done, "Inside of Duck, or me? Right, Fakir?" Sure, Mytho's honesty was sometimes endearing but sometimes Duck just wished he was a little more—

"Or I can put mine in Duck, or you? Right, Fakir? Is that how it works?" _Eloquent_. Just a tad bit.

Duck could feel her face heat up at the mention of anyone putting their anything else inside of _anyone_, and she felt pretty immature for it. It was what they where there for, after all. Fakir sighed, he just knew he'd have to explain this to Mytho, and Duck too probably—all the stupid, nitty-gritty, embarrassing details—his cheeks reddened, but really, it was getting sort of old and he was more nervous now than anything.

The three sat in silence and Fakir attempted to come to some personal resolutions, ones like just exactly how they were going to do this, and just exactly how to word it so that Mytho would understand and so that Duck wouldn't be scared off.

Mytho quirked his head at the silence, had he said something wrong? He glanced at Fakir over his shoulder and threw him a questioning look. He felt like maybe he'd said something wrong again, and his prick was beginning to get uncomfortable again—to hurt—he'd been waiting the longest after all.

While Mytho tried to figure out a way to ask for something he wasn't quite sure of, Duck herself was coming to some personal resolutions, and conclusions, and of course, Duck, being Duck, confusions as well.

"Umm, Fakir, I don't really know a lot about this sorta thing, but when you say put y-your th-thing inside of Mytho doyou, do-y-you mean, like, I mean, I don't mean to be stupid or anything, but I mean, do you plan to...uh, put your—um—just, uhm, is it like the same as a girl? I'm sorry! I'm so stupid of course I know it's not the same, but I mean, do you put it _there_?" And any normal person might have had no idea (or very little) of what she was talking about, but then of course, this was _Fakir_ we were talking about, practically a trained professional, and well, the way she'd said there, clearly meant _there_, and—

"Yes," He said through gritted teeth. Okay, scratch that, he wasn't just nervous, he was dying from humiliation.

Duck found herself flushing. She must have sounded like a complete idiot, of course he was gonna put it there—where else would he put it?

"Look, I'm going to put my, ah—" But he really couldn't bring himself to say it, and found himself choking on his own words before he could get halfway through the sentence.

Giving up on words, he was on top of Mytho again, lips centimeters away.

"Where is there, Fakir?" Mytho asked curiously, staring into jade eyes and breaking the seriousness of the moment. Fakir flushed again. "I-I'm just—don't worry about it now."

Mytho said nothing more and it gave Fakir enough drive to finally close the space in between them. Fakir had only kissed a handful of times, and only ever kissed Mytho twice before, but he found himself wondering why this wasn't an activity that he did all the time.

He brushed his tongue against Mytho's lips—lightly and hesitantly—hoping, praying that for once Mytho would just take a hint.

Mytho, though ignorant, was not stupid, and he found himself mimicking Fakir's actions, running his tongue against the knight's lips, tasting something that was just Fakir. Fakir nearly startled at the unexpected response, and he could feel his heart rate increasing, his penis twitching against his stomach. He'd never been so close to the prince before, so close with no clothing—only skin and air in between them.

The need to move things along was steadily mounting, and the green eyed boy found his fingertips running across skin and his lips instinctively slipping down until they were against Mytho's neck. He began tonguing across it lightly, and then he finally gave into the strange urge to nip against the other boy's skin, just the tiniest bit. Mytho made the most encouraging sounds—exposing more of his neck in the process—and Fakir found himself slipping a leg in between Mytho's.

He bit again, not much harder—to afraid he'd hurt the boy who'd always seemed so delicate—and then he found himself overtop one of Mytho's legs.

Duck watched, captivated as Fakir's lips worked against pale skin. She stared when Fakir brought his knee forward just the tiniest bit, so that it brushed in between Mytho's legs. Her breath caught in her throat, surprised as Mytho began to grind against it. The Prince lifted his knee then, causing Fakir to fall forward as he was forced to straddle it, his ass going into the air just a bit. Their lips connected again and then it was Fakir's turn to grin—hips jerking against the the Prince's knee.

She wanted to be part of it, part of them, but she found herself unsure of how to go about such a thing and so instead focused on resisting the urge to touch _that_ part of herself.

"Fakir, I—it's, ah!—too m-much." Fakir felt bad for the teasing touches that he'd been providing the Prince with up until now, knowing full-well how badly and how long Mytho had been asking for them. He swallowed, resolving try something new, shifting a bit.

"...ahh! F-Fakir...!" The way Mytho stumbled over his name sent blood rushing south, and he couldn't even imagine having to wait as long as Mytho had been waiting. The Prince had a surprising amount of stamina.

The dark-haired boy breathed in deeply and tried to pretend his every movement wasn't being watched as he slid down Mytho's body—the white-haired boy groaned at the loss of friction—until he was eye level with Mytho's erection.

His closed eyes for a moment, building up the confidence, before wrapping his hand's around the base—Mytho groaned again—and leaning down to lick the head. Mytho bucked so suddenly that it almost threw Fakir off balance, but he shifted forward anyway. Using his elbows to keep Mytho's hips from moving again, he leaned down for another experimental taste.

All in all it just sort of tasted like sweat and skin, not something really distasteful or delicious, but Mytho's needy voices encouraged him to continue, so he tilted his head and dragged his tongue up the side of Mytho's shaft.

"Aah-Fakir, I-it—" Fakir found himself hardening further—if that were even possible—and he wondered vaguely how Duck was reacting to display. He was suddenly struck by a nostalgic feeling, like the feeling he got when dancing. Performing for other people was something he'd been doing for ages. If he only pretended that this was merely another dance, another show—it'd be easy.

Fakir brought his head back, licking the top a few times in succession, before slowly bringing his lips loosely around it. He pulled back a bit—to lick his lips—before leaning back down and wrapping his mouth around the head.

"Aah...! P-please Fakir," Mytho swallowed and tried to regain the ability to speak, "Fakir, please, I-I—" The Prince wasn't quite sure what was happening to him, but he could feel something building up, heat spreading throughout his body and he felt so incredibly_ close_ to something.

Fakir couldn't believe how vocal Mytho was being—someone otherwise so quiet and reserved. Duck found herself choking on disbelief, that anyone—that her prince was making _those_ kinds of noises—and that Fakir was really putting his mouth around Mytho's—thing! It just seemed kind of gross—not like Mytho was gross—but that maybe his thing, well, she was sure Mytho cleaned and took showers and everything and Fakir had probably brushed his teeth but somehow it just didn't seem like a place you were supposed to be putting your mouth.

"Fak-_ir_!" Mytho drew the last syllable out as Fakir began flicking his tongue across the warm head in way that apparently felt very nice.

Mytho found his legs shaking and his hips spasming as heat spread out to the tips of his toes. Unsure of himself, but really hoping he was doing this right, Fakir gave a wet suck—just around the head—and suddenly found himself choking. Pleasure shot through every nerve in his prince's body and he threw his head back and screwed his eyes shut, mouth agape. There were no thoughts left in his mind except for Fakir, Fakir, _Fakir_.

The warm liquid that hit Fakir's tongue both disgusted and shocked him, so much that his grip on Mytho's hips loosened, and then Mytho—still in a the throws of ecstasy—bucked once, twice, and luckily Fakir had resisted the urge to gag before pulling back and spitting out the offending liquid. An apology might have been nice, but Fakir knew better—Mytho would have no idea what to be sorry for anyway—maybe he could teach him later, Duck too and—

The Knight coughed a few times, breathing heavy, and attempted to regain his composure while Mytho rode out the aftershocks, trembling and panting heavily. Fakir felt almost as dazed as Mytho at first, unwilling to believe exactly what had happened. He felt out of touch until a quiet, nervous voice broke the spell:

"Fakir, uhm...I'm not really—uh-uh, I mean, maybe I should uh, take off..." The tiny voice worried into nothingness but it left a heavy echo throughout the room. The dark-haired teen tensed and froze, and then rather slowly, he turned to look at the offender.

Duck sat nervously with wide eyes and pink tinged cheeks, fumbling with the hem of her white and yellow duck printed underwear. She glanced up from beneath untamed bangs.

"I just thought," her eyes shifted to the left uneasily before flickering back to Fakir's face, "that probably maybe I should, uhm, you know—because you and Mytho don't have any clothes on anymore..." Duck looked away and swallowed, gathering her courage.

Fakir watched eagerly but almost shamefully as Duck determinedly grasped the hem of her panties, and with a few jerky motions had them pulled down past her knees. His eyes widened, and he swallowed thickly, looking away.

Seeing someone else naked, someone who wasn't Mytho and already prone to pantless states—it had Fakir unsure of what to do with himself. He knew that he couldn't embarrass _Mytho_ by looking too much, but this _wasn't_ Mytho—it was a girl, and not just any girl—but the over-the-top, easily blushing, Princess-slash-Duck-slash-girl. This was _Ahiru_.

The sense of corrupting innocents returned for a second time as he looked back towards Duck and noticed the sparse hair between her legs. He closed his eyes again and brought his fingertips to his brow. He practiced the breathing exercises he'd learned during ballet practice. He clenched his eyes shut.

The familiar sense of corrupting innocents returned three-fold when Mytho finally sat up and asked, "What's wrong Fakir? What happened?" and then, Duck, voice trembling, hesitantly asked, "Fakir?"

He hadn't realized it was a question of consent, and without warning (his eyes were still closed after-all) he found that he had himself a lap-full of wriggling, blushing Duck. Fakir could feel himself stiffen in more ways than one, barely restraining a gasp as her warm skin brushed against his own. He cracked open his eyes, and realized, much to his relief, that Duck was resting her forehead on his shoulder, eyes downcast—he wouldn't have to meet her eyes.

Just when Fakir thought he'd gained control of himself, Duck shifted in his lap.

Fakir felt frozen in place, unable to move—honestly believing he couldn't—until his golden eyed Prince was kneeling behind him and caressing his shoulders. Mytho caught on fast. He ran his fingertips through Fakir's spiky hair, and whispered softly into his ear, "You made me feel good, Fakir, thank you." Fakir could feel his face heating again—as if sex was the kind of thing you were supposed to say thank you for!

"Can I make you feel good Fakir, can I...?" Mytho trailed off, opting not finish his sentence, instead reaching around Fakir's torso—between him and Duck—and brushing lightly against Fakir's twitching cock.

Fakir's mouth flew open in a silent gasp and he bucked—just a little—grinding against _that_ place between Duck's legs in the process.

"Mhmp!" Duck barely muffled the embarrassing noise that bubbled up her delicate throat. She honestly just didn't—ah!—know what to do with herself. This kind of situation was—of course—new to Duck. When Fakir rubbed his—his penis_ there_—it felt strange, like tingly and ticklish and—

"...ah!" This was so embarrassing. She kept her head against Fakir's shoulder—she'd never be able to look anyone in the eyes again!

Fakir could feel Mytho's cock hardening again against his back—and strangely enough found himself unsurprised—he supposed Mytho had to make up for lost time or something—

Duck whimpered against him, moving her hips noticeably forward, and Fakir found himself grinding back; warm cock brushing against the softness between her legs. Mytho released Fakir, suddenly remembering something Fakir had done to him, earlier-and reached thin fingers around Fakir's torso to firmly grasp his nipples.

The feeling had Fakir swallowing heavily, and grinding harder, less and less able to think clearly with his arousal. He grasped Duck's hips—pulling her almost a little too roughly—and pulled her smaller form flush against his bigger one; chest to chest, with his prick perfectly aligned beneath her.

Duck was making too much noise—she knew it—she was always so loud all the time. Fakir probably wanted her to just shut-up, but then he wasn't telling her that, and he usually did tell her when he wanted her to be quiet so maybe he didn't really mind the noise...?

Duck arched a bit, the feel of Fakir's prick between her legs was, was...intense. She could feel the entire length of it beneath her, and she found herself slowly grinding against it, her body heating and tensing and begging for more friction. She felt like she was on fire, just her chest brushing against his—it sent her mind reeling.

Then something changed a bit as Fakir jerked his hips forward; his prick slid between Duck's slit. There was a simultaneous gasp at the new sensation, and this time when Fakir drew back, his cock was slick and slippery. He swallowed roughly, and thrust forward a few more times, reveling in the new feel the wetness the movement created.

The pleasure was short lived for worry, however, as Fakir's penis slipped a little differently and he found it prodding Duck's entrance, centimeters away from being encased in slick heat.

Duck knew what was about to happen and braced herself—this was something she really wanted—and she was so hot and she really, really _needed_ _something_. She pushed forward a bit, angling her bottom down, but strong hands at her hips stopped her.

Fakir leaned forward, voice shaky and strained, "I-I-we, uh, we need to, umm—" Fakir sounded breathless, so he swallowed and took a deep breath through his nose. He wrapped his hands around timid shoulders and pushed Duck gently back. He swallowed again, and then determinedly looked into her eyes—the first time since the whole thing had started.

Softly he said, "Hey idiot, we—" He glanced away briefly before making eye contact again, "We have to use protection. Or do you wanna end up pregnant?"

Duck squeaked at the implication. Duck, pregnant with Fakir's child? _Pregnant?_ Oh man, oh man! Why the heck hadn't she though of that? Of course she could get pregnant! Fakir must think she's such an idiot—just like those stupid girls who get all gaga over a boy, and next thing you know they're in the abortion clinic—abortion? Duck couldn't get an abortion? What if—

"This is how girls become pregnant, Fakir? This is how life is created?" Mytho's voice was soft as usual, interested and curious.

Fakir covered his face with his hands. He really was a pervert. He was having sex with a girl who forgot that sex could lead to pregnancy—and a boy, a _boy_—(even if it was kind of different because it was Mytho) who didn't even know that that's how babies are created in the first place!

"Yes Mytho." Fakir managed out, regretting having said the word pregnant at all.

"So you will have a baby after this, Duck?" He asked, and turned towards said girl, eyes shinning.

This was never going to end.

"A-a-a-baby? I can't have a baby now! I mean I could, at least, bi-bi-biological-ly, but I mean, not that having Fakir's baby would be terrible or anything but I mean, I dunno if I even want a baby _ever_ and right now we're too young, and just because—" Duck was working herself up into a fit.

"No Mytho, Duck will not be having a baby." Fakir wondered if Duck would ever learn to give Mytho curt answers; they were what always worked best.

Duck quieted, filled with embarrassment. She had to learn to stop flying off the handle like that.

"I have condoms in my dresser," Fakir said aloud. Duck glanced away at the word, and Mytho asked:

"Condoms, Fakir?" Already with the questions.

"You'll understand in a moment." Fakir felt ready to burst. He was quickly tiring of being the one in control of the situation, and between Mytho's incessant questions and Duck's rambling, the stress was taking a toll on his libido; he could feel his erection flag as he stood up. He could Feel Mytho's eyes on him too, however, as he crossed the room to the nightstand, and suddenly he was self-conscious. Was Duck watching too? He forced himself not to turn and check.

He found the condoms easily and grabbed a handful, snatching the small plastic container beside them and trying not the blush about the fact that he even had them in the first place. He'd only wanted to be prepared if the opportunity ever presented itself.

The few feet from the dresser to the bed felt like miles. Fakir was trying to talk himself through the mechanics, but he wasn't quite sure how they were going to pan out himself. Mytho had a certain lack of...consideration that he really didn't want to push on Duck, and it wasn't that he was exactly adverse to letting Mytho—

Fakir found himself at the bed before he could finish his thoughts. As if in slow motion, he placed the condoms and the small container down, and then sat down himself.

He took a deep breath, meeting Mytho's eyes, and drew several conclusions, "Look, I think it's best, that-that, I'll do it to Duck, and you do it to me. Okay?" Fakir felt immature for his childish vocabulary, but Duck merely nodded vigorously with a red face. Fakir braced himself at Mytho's quizzical expression, but Mytho didn't ask anything.

"Okay, well since—I mean—there's a certain amount of s-s-stretching involved for a guy—so I have to..." He trailed off, feeling thoroughly humiliated. There was no way he was going to be able to do that to himself with Mytho blatantly staring at him, and Duck—well Duck being there at all was more than enough.

He reached for the lube anyway, and a thousand questions danced in Mytho's eyes. He popped open the lid and spread some of the substance on his fingertips. He closed his eyes (there was no way he could look) and reached behind himself. He swallowed at the cool sensation as his fingertips slid between his cheeks; and then a soft prodding.

Duck couldn't believe what was happening. _That_ was how it worked with two guys? She found herself a little grossed out. She'd figured out before how it was done, but putting your _fingers_ in _there_? It wasn't that Fakir was dirty or anything, actually he seemed like the type to shower _too_ much, but still, it just didn't seem like something Duck would want to ever do. She glanced away, training her eyes on Mytho to keep herself distracted.

Mytho, as per usual, picked the opportune moment to ask questions.

"Why are you doing that, Fakir?"

Fakir could feel his body tense as he resisted the urge to open his eyes. This was something Fakir knew he couldn't even possibly begin explain to Mytho, and sure Mytho didn't have a heart and all, but did a heart have some unknown connection with common sense? Because Fakir hardly ever observed Mytho using any. Context clues, for heaven's sake.

The dark haired teen began focusing on his breathing again—he really wasn't supposed to do this if he was tense—until it was even and regular. He pushed his lube-slicked index finger a little further inside. Something about it was nerve-wracking, but he was fairly sure it was the people in the room, rather than the actual experience, because really the feeling wasn't so awful. Fakir inhaled another gulp of air, feeling like a fish out of water in more ways than one, and pushed until his finger was sheathed to the third knuckle.

It was an unfamiliar although not completely unpleasant sensation, just a feeling of something in there that wasn't really supposed to be in there, and it made him feel sort of...too full, or something. He let out a swoosh of air from his lungs and swallowed, pressing the finger further inside himself. Fakir began attempting a slight thrusting motion—almost—just a shallow in-and-out press with one finger, but almost immediately he felt an uncomfortable chafing sensation and his arm began to tire.

Fakir had heard that you were supposed to use a lot of lube, and clearly he hadn't used enough. Getting more, however, meant completely removing his hand and then it would be like starting the process all over again and he really wasn't sure he could quite bear that. A shuffling noise almost made him tense again, and he suddenly remembered that there were two other people on the bed with him. Dammit. He was such an idiot. There were two other people waiting while he just took his good ol' time taking a millennium just to finger himself.

He wondered if it was supposed to take so long and figured it probably wasn't, so he kept going with his finger anyway—lube half dried and body tense. The anxiety was beginning to get to him, that he was performing below-acceptable, even if he knew that neither Mytho nor Duck had any idea about what was sexually acceptable in the first place. He could feel himself wavering as he attempted to add a second finger.

Mytho watched the entire ordeal with complete fascination, as did Duck, although her own curiosity was masked with embarrassment. The pale-haired boy watched his classmate with slight confusion, entranced as Fakir's chest heaved, wondering what exactly he was doing to himself with his other hand.

A plethora of unrecognizable emotions sped across Fakir's face. Strange little things that disappeared and reappeared with every intake of breath the other boy managed to make. Dark eyebrows knitted down in some sort of _something_... Mytho was fairly sure it wasn't anger, because Fakir wasn't yelling, although his face _was_ red.

Mytho moved a little closer to him—he really wanted to know why Fakir was acting so strangely—but his classmate tensed and so he figured perhaps he should wait a moment. He continued to watch as Fakir's arm began some sort of regular motion, although for what, Mytho still couldn't see nor figure out. He hoped that the emotions he wasn't understanding weren't too important, because there were a lot of emotions flickering across Fakir's face that Mytho couldn't recognize.

Mytho searched Fakir's face for something—_anything_ recognizable, and then, all of a sudden—there it was. Fakir's clenched eyes began to twitch and his body tensed and then, starting from Fakir's shoulders, an almost unnoticeable amount of trembling began. His motions stopped and Fakir's jaw tightened and his eyebrows—well, Mytho knew _that_ emotion, it was one of his firsts—fear. _Fear_? Fakir was afraid of something?

Something strange welled in Mytho's chest as he crossed the bed. He glanced back at Duck, who shot him a confused and embarrassed look, but continued anyway.

Fakir tensed again as soft hands dropped to his shoulders. "Fakir?"

"Are you okay, Fakir?" Fakir wasn't sure how to answer. Technically, yes, he was fine. He was just feeling stressed and nervous and barely hard because he had two fingers in his ass and he needed more lube because it was starting to hurt but he had no idea where he'd dropped the lube and he was too embarrassed and humiliated to open his eyes to look for it!

Thinking about it just had Fakir tense and shaking even more, and he felt like such an idiot because he couldn't do anything right, and he was supposed to be the _knight_, yeah right, some knight—

"Why do you feel fear Fakir? Why are you afraid?" Mytho surmised that it might have to do with whatever he'd been doing to himself that he couldn't see, so he pressed up against Fakir until he could see over his shoulders. He titled his head. All he saw were, two of Fakir's fingers pressed inside of his bottom.

Fakir attempted to move his hand forward again—ignoring Mytho—he was sure if he could just get this part over with he could—

Mytho watched with bewilderment as Fakir's hand began too move, and even more as he felt Fakir's body begin to tremble. Mytho placed his hand on Fakir's moving wrist. Tightened his grip just the slightest. Fakir's hand stilled.

"This is why you are afraid, Fakir?" Fakir froze.

"I'm _not _afraid, Mytho." Fakir managed out through clenched teeth and eyes.

Fakir waited for confusion and naivety, "Can I help, Fakir?" was what Mytho asked instead. Fakir was fairly sure that Mytho didn't even know what he was offering, but then, Mytho always had had a knack for helping people and—well, he was a prince at the end of the day, Fakir supposed.

Fakir's shoulders heaved and he swallowed. "Hand me the little bottle."

Mytho retracted himself from Fakir, cold air taking his place, before resuming his former position. The two of them—hair contrasting in the sunlight (it wasn't even midday yet)—kneeled facing one another. When Mytho's head was at Fakir's shoulder—close enough so that Fakir could whisper and still be heard—he muttered, "Open it and put some on my hand."

Fakir let his free hand wrap around Mytho's thin hips for balance. "This hand?" Mytho asked quietly, brushing against the hand that Fakir had twisted behind himself. Fakir nodded. "Not too much." He mumbled nervously. Mytho pressed himself against Fakir to get a more accurate view, slowly pouring some of the liquid around Fakir's encased fingers.

Fakir attempted to wiggle the two—index and middle—but it was no use. The lubricant from earlier had already dried, and the stuff Mytho had poured had merely dripped around his palm. Inwardly cursing, Fakir began drawing his hand back, and slowly removed his fingers, chest heaving. Once he'd fully retracted them, he took a few deep breaths.

Apparently Mytho used context clues a bit more than he thought, because suddenly there was an entirely new set of coated fingers at his entrance. Fakir gasped and grabbed onto Mytho with his newly freed hand for support. He leaned his forehead on Mytho's shoulder.

Mytho pressed a finger forward and Fakir's body tensed. "Do we need more of this-this...?" Mytho stumbled for a word to describe the strange liquid.

"Lubricant," Fakir offered. "Lubricant? Should I—" Mytho asked hesitantly. He was still fairly unsure of why Fakir needed this done in the first place, but if this was part of sex, then he supposed it didn't really matter.

"No—it's fine, just—_do_ _it_ already, it's fine." Mytho pressed his finger forward again, and instead of bothering with a slow entrance, as Fakir might have, Mytho had his finger sheathed inside Fakir in one slick motion. Fakir was still trying to comprehend the situation when Mytho began pressing a second, wetter than the previous one—had he used more lube anyway?—to join in with the first.

Fakir tensed just the slightest, really, but somehow Mytho had noticed because—

"Is this bad, Fakir?" Fakir didn't say anything—how could he even begin to answer Mytho's questions in a state like this?—he opted instead for body language; a slight movement of his hips.

Mytho seemed encouraged and pressed in the second, and the sensation was much less painful than when he'd done it. Perhaps he really hadn't been using enough.

Mytho pressed his fingers in more—as much as he could—and Fakir was gritting his teeth and clenching his hands at Mytho skin. The last one had stung a bit. "What do I do?" The white-haired boy asked, unsure of how Fakir was feeling and if he was even remotely doing the correct thing.

"Just, move around a bit." Fakir's voice seemed raspy and deeper than usual but less intimidating once it was being muffled against Mytho's skin. Mytho nodded and thrust his fingers in a few times, deeper, and then pulled them back and pushed back in again a little faster than Fakir would have liked.

Still unsure of what to do, the Prince began to experiment, scissoring his fingers and thrusting and exploring. Fakir didn't bother with embarrassing words like slower or softer or not so deep, just kept focusing on his breathing and telling himself that Duck really wasn't watching this whole thing just a few feet away.

Hoping he was doing this correctly, Mytho drew his fingers back, almost completely retracted them, before pushing back inside. The Knight was breathing heavily against him, although Mytho wasn't even sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Just when he was about to ask if he should stop, he decided to curl his fingers just a bit, and Fakir's whole body jerked with a stifled shout.

Startled and more confused than ever, Mytho ventured to ask another question, "Fakir...?" But the knight in question was still breathing heavily and—what the hell was _that_?—he'd read that it would feel good, but after all the embarrassment and discomfort and pain he didn't think _that_ good.

This time Fakir did say embarrassing things, "D-do that again."

"Do what again?" Mytho hadn't even been paying much attention to what he was doing. "This?" Mytho asked, and curled his fingers again. It would have been dirty talk if Mytho wasn't so blatantly confused. Fakir could feel his hips automatically grind back in response. Fakir gave a jerky nod. He could feel the blood rushing to his penis.

Mytho, naïve as he was, was proving himself a fast learner. The prince twisted his fingers a bit, simultaneously stretching and pressing against that spot again. Fakir wondered briefly what Duck was thinking, if she thought he was too girly or weak or such and idiot for being so stubborn about things.

The knight decided that he needed to move thing along. Duck was literally just a sitting duck, and probably feeling left out. He pushed himself back against the fingers and arched his back just a bit. Mytho twisted and turned the slick digits inside him, so much that it was no longer uncomfortable, but just there. Like shoes that you needed to break in, or something. It was actually beginning to feel too good. So good that Fakir was beginning to feel a warmth begin in his stomach.

"My-Mytho, add another finger." Fakir muttered with a dry throat. There was shifting in which Mytho's stomach brushed against Fakir's cock, twitching and needy, but Mytho paid it no mind. A third finger pressed to join the others. Fakir grimaced; shit, sex was really going to hurt, wasn't it?

Mytho pressed the tip inside without any hesitation, and as Fakir clenched his teeth, he thought about how he'd much rather be doing this to Mytho instead. But with the prince, everything was new to him, and Fakir really couldn't bear to look at him when he was coiled in fear or twitching in pain. So instead Fakir sighed and attempted to relax his body.

The finger pressed past the second ring of muscle, and instead of stilling for a moment, Mytho immediately started dancing, but with his _fingers_, pressing and bending and stretching the knight's insides. He curled the three of them until Fakir _had_ to call out, _couldn't_ help it, and then he jabbed at the place again and again until it felt so good that he was shaking.

Fakir wanted to tell him to stop, that it was too much, and it was _really_, but he couldn't seem to find his voice. Mytho moved forward a bit, for better positioning perhaps, knee brushing against his pulsing cock, and then Fakir knew he needed it. He stopped thinking about Duck and about being embarrassed and failing as a knight and just _felt_.

Mytho's other hand found Fakir's warm prick, brushed against it, loosely held it, and then tugged it lightly.

"Aaa_ahh_...!" Fakir really couldn't believe he was making those noises. He _couldn't_ be making those noises.

Mytho wrapped his palm completely around his cock, thick and warm in his slender hand and began pulling. He figured that this was what he was supposed to be doing to Fakir. He knew that when Fakir had done it to him it had been good, better than good, and even though he couldn't exactly identify the feeling, he was sure Fakir could, and he hoped he liked it.

Mytho twisted and curled his fingers playfully and Fakir's back arched and his hips gyrated. His eyes snapped open for a brief moment, and over Mytho's shoulder he caught a glimpse of Duck, no longer watching them but sitting and watching the sheets awkwardly and uncomfortably and—_dammit_, Mytho's lack of inconsideration was excusable, but his own? Shit.

"A-Ahiru...!" He attempted, named mangled and broken by another of Mytho's unrelenting thrusts. Her head snapped up and emerald and cerulean eyes finally met. He stilled Mytho's wrist from moving in a sharp grip, and in a breathless but stern voice told him to wait. Mytho turned his head to find what was distracting Fakir.

Unsure of what to say, Mytho said it for him.

"Fakir likes you too, Duck." She swallowed and moved her hands to cover herself, nervous and self-conscious. Fakir figured he'd had more than enough anyway—enough with the stretching, that he'd probably be fine. He tugged Mytho's wrist again, and a little too roughly Mytho pulled his three fingers out.

Fakir's body tensed with pain for a brief moment before he inhaled deeply. They both turned towards her.

"Is it the same with you Duck? Can I do it to you?" Fakir swallowed, knowing exactly what sameness Mytho was referring to. Did Duck? She was so ridiculously naïve sometimes—too much sometimes—but then, she wouldn't have been Duck without it.

Mytho advanced on her fairly suddenly, crawling across rumpled sheets with a strange amount on enthusiasm. Duck looked surprised and almost afraid, flailing around as if she didn't know what to do, until finally Mytho was against her and she was lying on her back staring back into amber eyes.

Without warning or question (which was quite something for Mytho), he had Duck's lips captured in his own. Duck was surprised but not stupid—contrary to popular belief—and once she'd gotten a handle on the situation she began responding back with just as much fervor. Mytho's hands began to roam, much more confident than before, brushing across soft skin—Fakir knew it was soft—and causing Duck to shiver.

The knight felt useless as he watched the situation, like he could just get up an leave and neither of them would notice. He knew it wasn't true, but then—they looked so wrapped up in each other—and it _wasn't_ that he was jealous.

Mytho pulled his head back, tongue retreating into his own mouth, and looked down, silently observing her body.

Duck felt self-conscious again. How could she not? This was the beautiful, princely Mytho staring at her underdeveloped duck-body. He must be thinking that Rue was prettier—and she was—and her breasts were bigger too—

Duck gasped suddenly as Mytho's fingers brushed against hardening pink nubs. He took them between his fingertips and rolled them experimentally.

"Aaa—_aahh_...!" Fakir was becoming impatient, gripping the sheets beneath his fingers as his prick twitched at the noises Duck was making.

Then Mytho leaned his head down, and grasping the small mound of flesh in his hands, allowed his tongue to dart out and lick it. He dragged his tongue across a nipple and lapped as Duck thrashed beneath him, licking his way to the second and leaving a trail of warmth and wetness behind him.

He flicked his tongue at it, cool air mixing with hot touches. Duck chewed on her bottom lip. Was she attempting to stifle her noises all of a sudden? She whimpered and Fakir could see her fingers twitching at her sides.

Mytho licked at them a few more times, still tugging them with his fingers. Fakir hoped Mytho wasn't being too rough. For a prince Mytho was hardly sensitive of others' likes or dislikes, but then—like Duck—he wouldn't have been him without it. Mytho squeezed the flesh beneath his hand suddenly—and really, maybe Fakir should intervene because it really did seem like Mytho was being too rough—but then Duck seemed to like it—clenching her fists and gasping and trying not make so much noise.

Duck bit her lip as Mytho pulled determinedly on her nipples again, rolling his fingertips and twisting. Duck was trying her best but really, every time Mytho touched her she felt like she was on fire, and then with Fakir watching it was just—it was embarrassing, that's what it was! Why would she like it _more _that Fakir was watching? That was just creepy. Not that she didn't like Fakir, but him watching her really didn't do anything extra for her at all because she certainly _didn't_ like being watched like she was there for his entertainment or some sort of morning television show, not one bit!

She turned her head (she really couldn't hold eye contact with the prince, his eyes were just too, _something_) but she regretted it almost immediately. Fakir was watching her, cock erect and doing nothing to cover himself. He was fisting the sheets—was he angry, or...?

But then Mytho was getting bored so decided to try something new, and leaned his head down, closed his lips around her nipple and sucked.

"F-Fakir...!" Fakir's head jerked up in response.

Mytho pulled back with a wet noise and stared at her. Ohmigod! She couldn't believe she'd just said that! Calling out Fakir's name! This was so embarrassing, it was bad enough she was making all those noises but now this? Fakir hadn't been making that much noise and he'd only said he name to get her attention, not like this! She threw her arm over her face in mortification while Mytho looked quizzically between the two. Fakir and Duck always acted strangely toward one another. Mytho couldn't for the life of him fathom why.

A few seconds ticked by. "Fakir, Duck called you," He finally stated, blunt and obvious. Fakir still didn't say anything, so he tried again.

"Fakir—" but Fakir didn't let him finish.

"I know, dammit. I heard you." Fakir supposed he was needed after all. And Duck obviously didn't like just Mytho—just the prince—but him too? Fakir, the failed knight?

Fakir moved across the bed towards them. With Duck looking so embarrassed he suddenly felt stronger and more confident. In a few moments he was hovering over her. He gently removed her forearm from her face. She clenched her eyes shut.

"Hey idiot, how am I supposed to see your face like that?" It was said as less of an insult and more of a term of endearment. As much as he wanted to tease her about her saying his name, he held his tongue, as she really did look embarrassed enough already.

"Is it the same as with you, Fakir?" Mytho was asking him, but he paid him little mind. He let his fingertips brush against her chest and she shivered. He leaned down until he was very, very, _very_ close to her face.

"C'mon Duck, I've seen you naked before." Duck squirmed but kept her eyes firmly shut. Fakir gave up and filled the gap between them, lips brushing against lips and sending tingles down his spine. Kissing Duck was much different that kissing Mytho. Mytho was soft, but Duck, Duck was a _girl_. And he could feel it in her kiss. His tongue darted out, licking at her lips and she complied, opening her mouth just a bit.

He brought one of her lips into his mouth and sucked on it, raking his teeth over it softly and then invading her mouth with his tongue, exploring and curious and feeling. Her tongue joined too; she seemed confident in kissing, tongue entering his mouth a brushing against everything. Fakir ran his hands through her hair.

Kissing Fakir was different than kissing Mytho. And something about that though made her feel a bit like a..a—like maybe she shouldn't have been kissing two different boys in the first place. But then Fakir—his kiss was so much _more_—she really couldn't describe it! Kissing Mytho was a gentle wave against a sailboat, but kissing Fakir was like an ocean storm!

In the midst of her bliss she felt Mytho touching her too, dragging his fingertips across her skin and then between her legs. She fought the reaction to immediately clench her legs shut, kissing Fakir more deeply and curling her fingers around his shoulders. Mytho's hand traveled deeper still and she could feel it between that wet part of herself, but still he kept going, until he was brushing against—

"Ah!" With a sudden yelp Duck jerked away from Fakir and almost kicked Mytho in the head. Shocked and confused, Fakir looked around. Duck had the furious blush he'd ever seen, and Mytho had perhaps the widest eyes. _Mytho_.

"Mytho, what did you just do?" Angry Fakir was resurfacing, frustration building with the coil in his stomach.

"I just—I thought it was the same as with you, Fakir." Dammit. Fakir shouldn't have ignored his questions.

"What was the same Mytho?" Fakir's patience was growing thin, but Duck spoke up before he started shouting.

"He touched my-my-my _butt_!" Duck wailed, looking thoroughly humiliated and traumatized. Fakir almost laughed. Duck's over-the-top reactions coupled with Mytho's confusion—was just... Fakir chuckled. They stared.

"The two of you are such idiots." Fakir sighed, shaking his head and effectively wiping the smirk from his face. It was strange how much more confident he felt when they were the ones being embarrassed and ridiculous. It was almost like Duck didn't leave any embarrassment left for him.

"Duck, lay back down. Mytho get over here. It's different with a girl, stupid." Duck hesitantly laid back down, but Mytho was at his side almost instantly. "Did I hurt you, Duck?" Mytho asked suddenly, and he had this look—it was almost concerned. "I'm sorry."

"No! You didn't hurt me. I'm fine, really, I was just really caught off guard. And touching there is—I meant there's nothing wrong with it—but I'm a girl and not that girls don't do that sometimes cause I'm pretty sure they do but I just don't, I mean, it's like—"

"It's fine Mytho, Duck wasn't harmed." Fakir finally silenced her in an exasperated tone.

They advanced on Duck simultaneously. Fakir kissed her briefly and toyed with her nipples, blushing long-gone, and then allowed his hand to drift down her torso, fingertips brushing in her naval before reaching their destination. Mytho was beside him, excited and interested, smooth cock standing at attention and golden eyes wandering across her body.

Mytho reached between her legs slowly, and then glanced back at Fakir for confirmation. Unspoken words, _Is this right?_

Fakir sighed and gripped Mytho's hand beneath his own. They brushed passed the thin patch of hair. Holding Mytho's finger beneath his own, Fakir pressed onward, spreading until he felt wetness. He swallowed, suddenly nervous again. He brought Mytho's finger to Duck's clitoris—that _was_ it, right?—pushed against it lightly. Duck gasped and her toes curled. He was pretty sure that was _it_.

They brushed against it a few more times, until Fakir decided to drag their fingers between the lips of her, her—privates, pressing forward until he could feel it. Duck wiggled beneath their touches, legs trembling and heart thumping in her ears. It was fine, she kept telling herself, Fakir wouldn't hurt her.

Fakir pressed Mytho's fingers into the wet heat—two was probably too much—and then whispered into Mytho's ear:

"Slowly." Mytho listened, slowly pushing the digit into her, but Duck was already breathing heavy and grinding back. Perhaps Fakir had underestimated her. Her body was more suited for this than his was, after-all.

Fakir swallowed away his nervousness, pressing his finger in beside Mytho's, and this time her face scrunched up in was hopefully just mere discomfort. He pushed in slowly, and once he had his finger finally settled in, he stilled Mytho's from moving. Seconds ticked by with only the sound of their breathing bouncing off of the walls. Ever impatient, Mytho wiggled his finger.

Duck gasped. Fakir mentally shrugged and figured it was good a sign as any, and then he began moving his finger too. It reminded him much of what Mytho had been doing to him earlier, only in reverse. And the inside of Duck was a lot more...wet. Mytho seemed to pick up on the fact when Fakir easily slipped another finger inside. She was stretching easier, accommodating much faster, and making much, much more noise.

Whimpers escaped her throat. Her forearm was covering her eyes again. "Ah, ah—F—Fak_iiir_..."

Fakir curled his fingers and something inside Duck made her writhe equally as much as he had earlier. The Knight used his thumb to rub against her clitoris, hips pressing against their fingers enthusiastically. Fakir, feeling bold, flicked at her nipples again. Her chest heaved and her body spasmed.

"Fakir," Mytho began, and said knight could already feel the question coming on, "Duck—girls, girls have their own..." He paused for a moment, "lubricant? Fakir?" Mytho asked at least.. Duck turned her head away and Fakir managed out an annoyed, "Obviously."

Fakir realized that his erection was beginning to hurt, and steady thrum was beginning in his loins, and so he decided he'd better move things along. He pulled his fingers out (and Mytho's too) before realizing that he'd never even really asked Duck her preference of sexual partners: whether her or Mytho. He'd simply stated it as a fact and she'd agreed. But maybe it was only because she didn't know she had a choice?

He chose things the way he thought would work best. Really, he wasn't biased. Feeling like an insensitive jerk, he spoke up, figuring better late than never.

"Duck, I never really asked," He was back to staring down at the sheets, wiping slick wetness off his fingers. "I just thought it'd be easier if it was you and I, and then Mytho doing—ah, well—_me_, but if you'd rather it be Mytho..." Fakir's own inability to speak was angering him, and coupled with the embarrassment of having to say it in the first place and— "Look, all I'm saying is, if you'd rather do things with Mytho, it's fine, because I really don't care either way."

Yeah, he really knew how to set the mood.

"That's not true, Fakir," Mytho murmured quietly.

"What do you know about any of it?" Fakir snapped, combating worry and self-consciousness with anger. Mytho looked withdrawn and Duck propped herself up, leaning on her elbows and looking nervous. She twiddled with her fingers.

"I like both of you, Fakir," Duck offered, glancing away. And Fakir liked Mytho _and_ Duck, so why all of a sudden did he feel the need to, to—

"That's why your heart hurts sometimes, Fakir," Mytho offered. Mytho really did fancy himself the knower-of-knowledge all of a sudden.

Fakir swallowed, suddenly feeling stupid. They did really all like each other, right?

"So..." The dark-haired teen started, unsure of himself.

"So this time you can do it, Fakir! There will be other times for trying other things, you know!" Fakir blushed and Mytho smiled.

"I mean, I'm not trying to say—" The words had stumbled out of her mouth before she'd even realized what they implied. "I'm not just assuming that! I mean, only if you want and if you don't want we don't have to because it's not like I want people to do what they don't wanna do—only it just, that—"

"Yes, stupid, there will be other times. I guess you're right for once." Fakir chuckled to himself and rolled his eyes. "Mytho, pass me that package by your foot."

Mytho handed Fakir the pink square with little understanding of what was in his hands. Duck and Fakir looked embarrassed again, although not as much as before—they'd all touched and made noises and Mytho had even orgasmed once already—there was little left to hide.

Fakir struggled with wrappings before removing the small object inside. He fumbled and almost dropped it and then looked down, with an actual reason to this time. After fiddling with the slick latex he managed to get the contraption on his cock in what looked to be the proper way, if the instructions were anything to go by.

Mytho watched in fascination. "Hey _prince_—you too." Mytho held one of the colorful squared in his hands, simply looking, before tearing open the package and roughly imitating Fakir. Once it was in place, gold eyes stared at the other male expectantly.

"Like this, Fakir?" The Knight nodded in confirmation.

"Umm—Duck, if you would just, lie back down—Mytho, just, uh—just wait a minute." Fakir could feel his palms beginning to sweat. He'd admit it, hell, he was nervous—and hard too. But he really didn't wanna mess this up. This was something—it was important, for all of them.

"Okay—um, I just—" Duck noticed Fakir was talking more than anyone. Was he _rambling_? That was supposed to be her job. Was he really so nervous? Not that Duck wasn't nervous, cause she was nervous too—and she didn't think Mytho was nervous but she really didn't think Mytho could even feel nervousness yet. Was nervousness an emotion anyway?

Fakir was over-top of her, broader shoulders, flat stomach and angular hips. She felt small, and a bit anxious, but safe. Fakir would never hurt her—or Mytho. They were in good hands. She smiled up at him.

"I trust you, Fakir." She offered with a hesitant smile and sky blue eyes. Fakir blushed and swallowed, feeling even more irresponsible and corrupt. Duck and Mytho, they were too trusting and innocent and, and-and, he felt like he was taking advantage or something.

Fakir touched nervously at warm thighs. "Could you—uh, spread your legs a bit?" He felt like a pervert for saying it, he really did. He stroked her thighs, worried his lip, and let his fingers wander back inside of wet heat, but at the end of the day—he was stalling. He removed his fingers and she gasped, and then pulled on her legs a bit, so that she was aligned properly, so that he could—

He swallowed nervously and attempted to still his shaking hands. He wasn't trembling, he was _not_ trembling. He took hold of his cock—god, he really wanted this—and let it slip between her legs, prodding lightly, and shit, he was still afraid. Afraid of hurting her. What if it was too much? He pressed forward with his hips and it slipped, didn't press in, but went up, missing the target completely. Fakir could hear his own heart beating in his ears.

Mytho appeared beside him, mimicking earlier parts of the night, and wrapping his smaller hand around Fakir's, around his cock. He used his other hand and opened Duck up for him—so apparently at some point he'd managed to put two and two together.

Fakir pressed forward and he could feel himself breaching her, entering agonizingly slowly. It was so hot, and tight, too tight. Was Duck hurting? Mytho seemed to be wondering the same thing.

"Do you feel pain, Duck?" Duck swallowed and cracked open an eye. "Just a little." She whispered. Fakir couldn't tell if she was lying. He pressed on anyway, still slow, because really, it was a little late in the game to quit now.

Every inch felt like hours—like lifetimes—when really mere seconds ticked by. Fakir could hear the birds outside, he'd forgotten it was only morning. He'd forgotten about everything really, everything except for himself and Mytho and Ahiru.

Fakir pressed forward a bit more—Mytho had long ago relinquished his hold around Fakir's prick—and he was fully settled inside. Fakir was definitely trembling now, heat coiling in his stomach without even moving, he'd been hard so long, and Duck was really just perfect. Hot and tight and wet, and pretty, Duck was pretty too.

He looked down at her face. It was contorted into pain. He grimaced. How much did it hurt? How much was it going to hurt her? He leaned forward a bit and she whimpered. Fakir swallowed thickly. He didn't want to hurt her, and it felt so good for him—was she only feeling pain? He really wanted to move, dammit, he _needed_ to move...

He flicked at her nipples, grasped them between fingers and toyed with them. She gasped. He remembered something suddenly, feeling like an idiot, and reached down where they were connected, softly pressing against her the little numb. Her hips moved semi-automatically, tightening around Fakir and—

"Ah..." Pleasure went straight up his spine. He rolled the nub it between his fingers as he had done to her nipples, and then attempted to start a pace. Duck was relaxing around him, Fakir could feel it, and her face wasn't so scrunched up anymore.

He attempted to move forward the barest of an inch, but was almost immediately stopped by high-pitched wailing.

"Ow, ow, ow! Fakir! I-it hurts!" Fakir stilled himself, teeth clenched.

Seconds ticked by, and Fakir tried moving forward again, only to be immediately stopped.

"Fakir, it hurts!" He swallowed. He knew it hurt because girls had this thing—a hymen, was that what it was called? Fakir could feel it—at least he thought so—the bit of resistance against his penis.

"Duck, um—" God, it wasn't like he wanted to hurt her. "If I just push real quick, it'll—" She seemed to get the gist, closed her eyes and nodded.

Fakir brought his hips back, and pushed roughly. Duck cried out in pain, and there was the feeling of a very light, almost snapping sensation, and all at once the feeling of a barrier was gone.

Fakir had stilled himself again, breathing heavily, trying not to lose his erection. Hurting people on purpose was not something he liked, and the stressful situation was taking it's toll. It was probably good in a way, because he definitely wouldn't have had so much self-control otherwise.

"Are you okay?" Fakir asked her, speaking quietly. Duck managed a shaky nod. Just when he felt like he could at least try to make it feel good for her, a hand brushed against him from behind.

He tensed, but then relaxed, remembering Mytho's presence. If it hurt Duck this much then—he really had to relax. He took a deep breath.

"Fakir, it's the same?" Mytho asked, cock brushing against Fakir's backside.

Fakir nodded mutely, but then, remembering, hurriedly added:

"But you have to use the um—the..."

"Lubricant, Fakir?" Fakir nodded again, too aroused to blush anymore. He was fairly sure all the blood was in his cock anyway—inside Duck—oh_fuck_ he wanted to move.

Something wet brushed against him and he shuddered. Mytho's fingers were at his backside, spreading lubricant around—his hips jerked a bit and Duck whimpered.

"S-sorry." He wondered if Duck was overreacting as usual. He wanted to tell her to just relax, relax your muscles and breath slowly, but his mouth was dry and he couldn't quite find the will to speak.

Something slick—something bigger—was prodding at his entrance a little sooner then he'd liked. He desperately tried not to tense and clench his muscles. Mytho pushed forward a bit.

He didn't think Duck was exaggerating anymore.

Duck bit her lip, watching as Fakir's eyebrows furrowed and his teeth clenched in pain. She figured that Mytho was probably—you know—doing the same thing Fakir was doing to her. But then, Fakir was a boy and she wondered if it felt different because she really couldn't imagine putting anything in there, especially not something as big as, as big as—well, what was inside of her.

She wrapped her hands around Fakir's wrists, she could feel how tense his body was against her. Poor Fakir, if this was hurting her, then maybe—maybe this kind of sex wasn't such a good idea for Fakir or Mytho—or maybe even herself. There were other kinds of sex right? She knew there were. Maybe they should just stop and try another time.

"Mmhaaa..." Duck gasped. That time hadn't hurt it had even felt—

Fakir moved forward again—pressed again—down there, and it felt like, like—

"F-f-f...kir..." She swallowed. It was so strange. Fakir's cock felt so full inside her: thick and warm and just _there_.

Just when Duck was trying to think of a way to tell Fakir to move without sounding so embarrassing, he cried out, and it definitely was pain.

Mytho's soft voice spoke from behind him, but stuttering and less level than usual.

"I-I'm, Fakir? I..." His voice sounded breathless.

Fakir swallowed. "Don't move."

The statement hung in the air long after it was said, and Duck found herself genuinely worried. It would feel good for Fakir too, right? Wouldn't it? He wouldn't be doing it if it wasn't supposed to feel good would he? Cause that's what sex is about, feeling good—well not all it was about—it was about love too, and sure she loved—loved? Who did she love? Since when? But poor Fakir...and he was a knight so what if...?

What if he was just trying to be self-self, self-sacrificial or something? He wouldn't do that! Would he? Maybe. Maybe they should stop. Maybe he was just to embarrassed to say anything or something and so she should! Yeah, Duck would be brave this time. She would speak up!

"Fakir, are you okay?" She asked as quietly as possible. He opened his eyes, but his face was still scrunched up.

"Can I move?" He asked tersely.

What was that supposed to mean? Duck would be the one asking questions here, thank you very much.

"Oh! You mean, umm—it doesn't hurt anymore—I just, are you okay? I mean it does a little but umm.—Yes." She quieted.

Fakir let out a whoosh of air. He took another deep breath. Mytho was all the way inside him, and, Mytho really hadn't looked so big but somehow he just felt _huge_. Fakir was beginning to wonder if they were doing something wrong. Was it really supposed to hurt this much? He wondered if Mytho was experiencing the same difficulties as him: the need to move, for more friction—and the _heat_.

He pushed his hips forward in some type of jerky gyration or thrust—if you could even call it that—and two simultaneous gasps filled the room. His breath caught in his throat as he moved again. And again. He was attempting some sort of rhythm, he really was. He told himself it was like dancing. It was, in a way.

He opened his eyes to stare at Duck—it was hard to keep them open when everything felt so good—and she looked so perfect. The pain was gone, just pretty eyelashes sheathing blue and a mouth that kept opening in the perfect sort of shape. The noises she was making were just...

He could feel a heat coiling in his belly, and he wondered if Duck felt the same. A voice broke his rhythm mid-thrust.

"F-fakir, please—I-I—can I move now, Fakir? Please." Mytho's voice was strained and breathless. Fakir had forgotten to tell him otherwise, he'd just thought—

Fakir nodded.

Mytho drew back and the pushed forward in one fluid moment. In seconds he was thrusting, jerking his hips—too fast, too fast—and gasping.

Fakir tried to ignore the pain—it was ebbing away some—and focus on Duck. Her hair, her face, those noises. He attempted to speed up, to follow Mytho's rhythm so that they could all move together or something but—

"Mytho..." Fakir found himself whispering. His face might have been red if he hadn't felt so good. Mytho was hitting that place again. That spot inside that just made all the pain seem irrelevant.

They weren't moving as one, but rather a chain reaction. Every movement Mytho made pushed Fakir deeper inside Duck—who in turn tightened and had Fakir pressing back. They were all moving at different paces, trying to build up to that one point where everything was too good.

Fakir could feel the heat in his stomach, tightening and spreading—his fingertips, everywhere—everything felt good. Mytho pressed forward, cock buried deep in Fakir, and jerked his hips rapidly, so fast that it was hurting Fakir but this was Mytho and he really wasn't too worried about that. He grasped Fakir's hips with thin fingers and then he pushed forward and his whole body tensed.

"Ahhh...!" Mytho let out a strangled moan, body shaking and tingly.

Fakir was a few moments later, hunched over Duck, with his hands tightening around her thighs—his hips moving quickly and without his own consent. He grunted, and choked on moan, desperately trying to be less dramatic than Mytho had. Wanting Duck to think that he was, that he was _something_. His hips continued to move forward for a few seconds afterwards, aftershocks tumbling through his trembling body.

He could feel Mytho pull out from behind him, and as he looked down at Duck somehow everything became embarrassing again. Had Duck...?

She whimpered and her hips moved against him, but he could feel himself going soft inside her, blood returning to his cheeks—all of it, to his cheeks.

"Ahiru—ah, I'm—dammit..." What was he supposed to say? Sorry I forgot about you back there, my penis is limp now. My bad.

He swallowed thickly. He pulled out of her slowly. He'd already gone soft. He let her hips fall back down to the mattress. He looked frantically behind him for some sort of consolation or something but then—of course—Mytho was already asleep. The selfish prince, after all that.

He looked back down at her nervously. Azure peaked out beneath eyelashes and Duck made a frustrated groan.

He leaned forward, arm on either side of her.

"I-I'm sorry I didn't, I just mean, I really—" Is this how Duck felt all the time? Unable to speak or properly form a single sentence?

"Faki_iiir_..." She whined, looking displeased. She grabbed his hand out from under him and he almost fell forward on top of her.

"Stop rambling, just c'mon, it's okay—" His face rivaled that of a tomato. "Just, please..." She took his hand beneath hers and pressed his fingers against her that little nub, rubbing it up and down swiftly. A few moments in and she'd let go, gasping with her head thrown back.

"Ah, ah, a_hhh_—" Her noises were breathless and gasps punctuated as she moved her hips beneath his hand, urging him to move fast—please _faster_. He dipped his finger lower, spreading the wetness from _there_. He pressed harder, once he realized it wasn't hurting her, and then, a few circular motions and—

"F-f-Fak_iiir_..." She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, holding it in place and grinding against it, body tense as a bow. Her hips jerked a few more times and then her whole body went taut, before spasming wildly.

Gradually her hips slowed and her body stopped making those jerky motions. She panted with red cheeks and closed eyes, until gradually her breathing slowed until—was that _snoring_?

Fakir felt thoroughly offended. Had they both simply fallen asleep? In a matter of mere seconds?

He sighed and removed the condom, chuckling inwardly; Mytho had fallen asleep with it on. He glanced at the clock and then out the window—to the school. He was fairly sure they weren't going to make it on time.

:::

_la fin._

:::


End file.
